The Binding Witch and The Fortune Taker

Missing

Time moved quickly in Madame Miri's tent.

"Are you from the same family as those two blond girls who came earlier?" she said.

"No, I'm not Bindan!" My movements felt thick, like I moved through water. I knew I wasn't supposed to talk about the secret society of witches-who-didn't-want-their-magic, but I couldn't stop myself. My lips felt rubbery and my brain ticklish.

"Hmm, I've heard of them." she said. "You're the same, but different. Have you ever done magic?" she leaned forward and tried to make eye contact.

I was still aware enough to avoid looking her in the eyes. I frowned. This was the second time today somebody tried to do that to me, counting Mr. Spitty. "Small stuff," I almost tipped onto the table. Why did I feel so floppy?

Madame Miri reached forward and gave me a nudge back. "Like what?"

I flopped backward in the chair. "Love charms," I said, "to sell here." My head lolled to one side and I thought it might just roll off and fall onto the floor.

"So I'm guessing it wasn't you who did the bindings." She mumbled.

My head shot up. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just wondering who is binding you guys," she said, her fingers steepled together in front of her bulbous nose. "What a shame. But nevermind. More for me!"

The questions continued. I felt drained in pulses like something more than energy was drawn away with each answer I gave. She didn't use any incantations I could remember, and I felt okay with telling her anything she wanted to know, even though I can't quite remember what that was. There were a lot of questions. What about the coins? I tried to focus on the exchange - to lock onto the events so I wouldn't forget, but it was like trying to grab water.

Then it was over.

I stumbled out into the light and the tent flaps snapped shut behind me. The scene felt surreal, like coming out of one of those dreams where the person playing your mom wasn't your mom.

"Closed?" an angry voice shouted behind me.

The sound startled me. I shook my head and tried to get my bearings. The sun was lower in the sky and the wind had picked up and smelled of fall. I shivered.

"No!" moaned another. "I waited here for over an hour!"

"How come she got so long?" said a third.

I moved away from the agitated crowd and pitched into a slow gait homeward. The normal evening sounds of the festival had kicked in and they became clearer to me the farther I walked.

The cinnamon scent of the roasted almond cart stopped me and I dug in my pocket for the twenty I remembered was in there and handed it over. The vendor handed me back some change and a paper cone of warm almonds, covered in cinnamon and sugar. I breathed in the smell and slipped one in my mouth, and hoped the flavor would clear my head. My stomach rumbled in gratitude and I stuffed handfuls in my mouth. The act of eating brought me back, chew by chew.

I threw back the rest of the almonds and my eyes rested on a black and white flyer attached to the side of his cart. A series of four thumbnail photos, with the bold black text across the top: "MISSING".

I leaned closer to read, "Last seen at the Great Lakes Renaissance Festival, Mackinaw City, Michigan" printed across the bottom, along with the names, birthdates and ages of each person pictured. A whole family. A chill shot down my spine.

Michigan. The northern circuit.

That was the festival Miri had been to, before coming here.

Coincidence?